Secret Santas
by Jaxalope
Summary: It's not a requirement, but members of Overwatch (and Blackwatch) can put their names in a jar to draw for Secret Santas every holiday season. Then they hand out and open gifts together in the common room over hot cocoa and an abundance of food. Just some general fluffy drabble, super short, just a one-shot.


It wasn't mandatory, nor was it really an organization-wide tradition, but every Christmas came attached with a jar full of names. They called it a "secret santa" jar. Folks would write their name on a scrap of paper, toss it into the jar, and draw a random name for themselves. Whoever they got, they would buy a present for. Then on Christmas, everyone would get together to give each other their gifts.

The practice was mostly isolated to the oldest members of Overwatch - a tight crew that functioned as a family more often than not. A crew that was, at the moment, thoroughly snowed in at the Gibraltar Watchpoint. Technically Christmas was a few days away, but the weather was crappy and the presents were all there under the tree, and _oh hell why not._

They set up in one of the common rooms - the relatively nice one with a clean carpet and comfortable chairs. A fake tree covered in ornaments and a slightly distressing amount of tinsel stood tall at the back of the room, boxes and bags crowded around its base. They set up tables for a pseudo-potluck supper - Gabriel, Ana, and Fareeha had worked hard to make a variety of dishes for the occasion. Cultural and regional favorites, cookies and breads made from recipes older than Reinhardt; all splayed out on hotplates and serving trays, steadily being picked at throughout the night. They set one more place than usual at the tables for their newest addition, Jesse McCree. Normally such a young recruit wouldn't participate, but Jesse was a special exception. He'd never actually celebrated Christmas. He'd never had the means to do so.

"I'm not saying you're a hypocrite, but you're eating the same cookies you told me not to touch two days ago, Angela."  
"Two days ago we were not celebrating Christmas, Jack." The young doctor smiled, delicately wiping away gingerbread crumbs from her lower lip. "Calories don't count on the holidays."  
"Oh is that how that works?" The strike commander laughed, his "fearless leader" persona left behind in favor of a warm smile and a fatherly tone. "Damn, I should have eaten more of that pie on Thanksgiving, then."  
"You can still make up for lost time - Fareeha baked an apple pie for tonight. By herself, the way she tells it." Gabriel Reyes, although not really an Overwatch agent anymore, was present at every holiday gathering. He gestured towards the young Amari who had only been eavesdropping a little, and just so happened to be cutting a slice of that pie anyway, if Commander Morrison would like one.

In the corner, hat pulled down over his downcast eyes, Jesse McCree was only half-listening to Reinhardt's story about some old German folk tale. The Deadlock Gang had never exactly celebrated anything other than an especially good payday. Christmas parties were a borderline foreign concept for him. Quite frankly, he was uncomfortable. The warm glow of lights on the tree, the soft laughter of long-time friends exchanging stories, the smell of sweet cookies and savory main courses - it felt like it wasn't for him. It felt like he was intruding on something.

Of course Gabriel had been the one to drag him here, so he was hardly unwelcome. It started as an offer and slowly graduated to an order as Jesse continued to decline. He almost didn't show up anyway, but Angela paid him a visit in his bunk and had a long talk about how he was part of their family and blah blah blah. Jesse McCree didn't have a family.

A huge hand clasped his shoulder, ripping him from his brooding and shoving him back into the real world. Reinhardt had finished his tale and now his booming laughter filled the room. Everyone smiled fondly at the old timer, save for McCree, who forced a half-assed smirk as a friendly gesture.

"Can we do presents now?" Fareeha chimed, sitting cross-legged at Reinhardt's feet. Nobody objected. Fareeha re-situated herself by the pile of presents and began handing them out according to the tags on each one. Jesse had to admit that was a little cute. He felt an odd twinge of jealousy.  
Each of them exchanged gifts, hugged each other, laughed at inside jokes (Jack had given Ana a sugar bowl full of salt, Ana punched his shoulder and shouted that it was "ONLY ONE TIME" and "WHO KEEPS SALT IN A SUGAR BOWL ANYWAY"). Jesse watched quietly. He hadn't gotten anyone a present. He hadn't known.  
"Jesse!" The youngest Amari held out a fairly large flat box, wrapped in beige wrapping paper with tiny snow-covered cacti on it. "This one is for you, from mom." Ana smiled and nodded as Jesse stared at her, bewildered.  
"Thank you ma'am." He tentatively accepted the box, swallowed, and tipped his hat at her. As if he still wasn't sure it was for him, Jesse picked at the wrapping paper until he uncovered the box itself. Lifting the lid, he felt his eyes sting a little. He cleared his throat. "That's mighty kind of you, ma'am."  
A brand new serape, the thick scent of cigar smoke and dust clinging to the fabric. Bright red. Sturdy cloth. She must've overheard him lamenting to Angela that his was thoroughly shredded from years of abuse.

"This one is from Jack." Fareeha pushed a small gift bag into his lap.  
"Oh?" The bag jingled as he peered inside. "A...spur?"  
"Yup." Jack flashed him a proud smile. A poster boy of Overwatch smile. "It's an authentic relic from the real cowboy days. Thought if anyone could appreciate its history, it'd be you."  
"Here's Angela's!" Jesse was officially overwhelmed. His eyes flitted over each of the smiling faces in the room. He hoped to god they hadn't ALL gotten him something.

They had, of course. Angela got him a crazy old box set of western films (on DVD of all things) with a note promising to let him borrow her old DVD player. Reinhardt gave him a harmonica that looked damn near ancient. Gabriel gave him two gifts - the first was cutting off Reinhardt before he could launch into a story about harmonicas and cowboys, the second was a belt buckle with the acronym "BAMF" on it. That earned a groan out of everyone, save for little Fareeha who asked what it meant. Nobody answered her, largely because everyone could feel Ana Amari's eyes piercing their souls with warning.

Even Fareeha got him a present. A little ornament made of Papier-mâché that looked just like him. He hadn't planned on crying, but that tipped the scale and drew out some sniffles and embarrassed coughing. Which was close enough to crying to make him feel silly.

"Y'all didn't have to get me anything..." Jesse murmured.  
"No, we didn't." Ana mused. "But we wanted to."  
"You came here with nothing but the clothes on your back, kid. You needed something to put in your suitcase during transports." Gabriel laughed, placing a firm hand on Jesse's shoulder and shaking him playfully.

He never did take that belt buckle off, or the serape for that matter. He welded the spur to his gun - put it to use, as Jack would have wanted. He never got good at playing the harmonica, but he sure did try and he never tossed it. He told Angela he watched the movies, but it took him almost a year to actually do so. And he never did celebrate Christmas proper again when he ditched Overwatch, but he did always hang up that ornament wherever he was staying on Christmas Eve and Christmas day.


End file.
